Pale Reflection
by NativeStar
Summary: Preseries.  A cursed mirror traps Dean’s soul behind its glass, while his body is hijacked by a spirit.  There’s a limited amount of time to save him before the doppelganger is all that’s left but will John and Sam even notice Dean’s missing?
1. Chapter 1

Title: Pale Reflection  
Author: NativeStar  
Word Count: 2,287  
Rating: PG  
Warnings: Nothing really, no pairings or spoilers.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
Summary: Pre-series. A cursed mirror traps Dean's soul behind its glass, while his body is hijacked by a spirit. There's a limited amount of time to save him before the doppelganger is all that's left but will John and Sam even notice Dean's missing?

A/N: A huge thank you to extraonions for the initial beta and helpful comments and to thehighwaywoman for the final beta. This was written for the evil!Dean ficathon over at LJ.

* * *

The murders occurred every seven years.

The victims were always female.

The deaths were always classified as 'accidental'.

They always happened on the same calendar day: July 30.

The house where the murders occurred was an old and sorry sight. It had once been a beautiful family home, but years of neglect had now reduced the building to a boarded up wreck. The remnants of an overgrown garden surrounded it, obscuring the cracked path that led to the front door. Originally a brilliant blue color, the only remains of the door's paint was a few cracked and faded patches. Out back a frayed rope hung from the branch of a tree. Below it laid the tire that had provided hours of fun and laughter to the children that had lived there over the years.

Since the last murder, the house had been sitting abandoned. The owner who inherited it had shown no interest whatsoever beyond selling. Most of the furnishings and unwanted belongings had simply been left behind. The history of the house and its position on the far outskirts of a small town had put off many potential buyers and the owner gave up on selling a long ago.

The locals spun tales of a family curse, an unrequited love ending in suicide and murderous, restless spirits. Their children, however, spurred on by these rumors would visit the house on dares in the dead of night and return with tales of spirits, monsters and gore so fantastical that it was hard to tell what was true and what were wild imaginings.

John Winchester was certain of only two things. One, women were dying and two, there was _something_ in the house that was killing them.

* * *

"I don't want to go, Dad!"

"That decision is not up to you, Sam."

Dean sighed, relaxing back on his bed and picking up a magazine for distraction. The raised voices of his dad and brother came from the kitchen, but the paper thin walls of the apartment meant that they might as well have been arguing in the same room as him.

"Why do we have to leave? That's all we _ever_ do!" Sam paused, and Dean knew a change of tactic was coming. He could almost see the earnest expression Sam no doubt was wearing. "Dad, c'mon, you're only going for the job and the town is just three hours from here. Toby said it was fine with his parents if I stayed with them. You can pick me up afterwards."

Dean heard the kettle being switched on and the thud of a cup forcefully placed on the worktop waiting to be filled.

"Even if I agreed to this Sam, it wouldn't change anything. We're still leaving this town." The kettle clicked off.

"Yeah, so you can start dragging our asses all over the country again."

"Sam!" A sigh. "This discussion is over. Go pack your bag."

"Yes, sir." Sam said, pouring as much sarcasm as a fourteen year old could into his reply. Dean redoubled his attempts to concentrate on the magazine as he heard Sam stomp down the hall to their tiny and, unfortunately, shared bedroom. Sam slammed the door behind him so hard that it rattled in its hinges. He stormed over to his bed, dropping heavily to sit with a scowl.

"So, I take it Dad didn't change his mind." Dean looked up, giving up pretending to read the magazine for now. It had been the same argument for over a week, ever since Dad had found a hunt and announced their plans for the summer vacation, and Sam had announced his own. Even when they hadn't been flat out shouting at each other the disagreement lingered, filling the air with tension, just waiting to break out again. Sam had spent hours trying to convince Dean to take his side.

"It's not fair, Dean!" Sam burst out, smacking his bed with a fist.

Dean had the sinking feeling he'd just opened the dam to everything Sam thought was unfair. "Yeah, I got that much" he muttered as he swung his feet off the bed, sitting up and pushing the magazine to one side to face Sam.

"I could have stayed at Toby's while you took care of this job and then you could have come picked me up. It's not a three-man job. I'd have been happy, you'd have been happy, hell, everyone would have been happy. I don't see why he's so stubborn."

"Sam, he wouldn't have been happy. Not leaving you three hours drive away with some strangers."

"They're not strangers. I've known Toby for months."

"Exactly, only months, Sam. Besides, we're moving to a new town anyway. Dad only stayed this long to let you finish out the school year. You'd have had to say goodbye anyway."

"That's my point! They're my friends, I didn't want to say goodbye, I wanted longer!"

"Sam, Dad does what he does for a reason."

"Trust you to take his side." Sam muttered.

"I'm not taking anyone's side!"

"Then be a man, Dean and pick one! Don't sit on the fence, you're either on his side or mine! Don't you have friends here? We stayed here long enough, isn't there anyone you don't want to say goodbye to?"

"No." Dean replied, picking up his packed bag and heading out to the Impala. Sam had hit home. Dean had no one to say goodbye to. He knew they weren't settling down and unlike Sam he didn't see the point in making friends only to leave. There were casual acquaintances, nothing more. He had people he hung out with, who he spoke to and joked with but they weren't his friends despite what Sam might think.

Actually, thinking about it with a smile, leaning against the Impala, he had quite a few female acquaintances in town. Maybe it hadn't been so bad after all.

* * *

Three hours later the Impala pulled up the driveway to the haunted house. Weeds and grass had forced themselves up between the cracks creating a crazy paving effect.

"Okay boys, you know the drill. We're looking for EMF," John reminded them. "We'll take a look around see what we can find before we come back at night. We should be safe, it's daylight and this thing only goes after women, but be careful."

"Yes sir," they both replied.

"I'll take the ground floor, you two can handle upstairs." John ordered.

"Maybe we should use Sam for bait?" Dean suggested as they headed towards the house.

"What?" Sam shot Dean a glare; he'd been bait _last_ time.

"It only kills women, Dean," said John.

"Exactly! Sam's girly enough, aren't you?" Dean said nudging Sam's shoulder playfully. Out the corner of his eye he saw his dad struggling to hide his grin.

"Asshole."

"Language, Sam." This time obeying his father, Sam settled for giving Dean a look of death as they entered the property.

* * *

On the first floor was a folding attic staircase. Dean decided to leave Sam to finish checking the bedrooms as he looked up the staircase. He couldn't see much other than the ceiling of the room. As he climbed the stairs they creaked ominously, and Dean cautiously tested each one before putting his weight on it.

Behind the door Dean discovered a small attic room that, from the look of things had been mainly used for storage. An old desk, a wardrobe tipped on its side and a sofa right in the middle, stacked with piles of paper, were the main features of the attic. The roof sloped down on either side, the center of the room being the only place where Dean didn't have to duck his head. The floor was scattered with boxes, some stacked and covered in tarps, with still more littered around the outskirts of the room. The whole place was coated in a fine layer of dust.

As Dean moved around the room, disturbing the dust, it danced, swirling in the air illuminated by the single window in the centre of the far wall. He moved to look out the window, noticing that the room faced the back of the house, with nothing to see but the overgrown garden and beyond the old fence fields stretching as far as the eye could see. It made the house seem very lonely, being so empty of life and far from any real civilisation.

There was a smell of mildew that Dean had come to associate with old books and as he ran his finger down the edge of a box he bet that was what a fair few of the boxes held.

_Sam would __be in his element with this._

Thinking of his brother he turned to leave, planning to tell him about the room. Before he could, he spotted a large standing mirror in the corner. From the doorway it had been obstructed from view by a couple of stacked boxes. Made out of a dark wood, it had vines, leaves and branches intricately carved into it, wrapping around the entire frame. It was the only thing in the room that didn't look like unwanted rubbish or books.

Dean found himself attracted to it. However, standing in front he was taken aback to discover he saw no reflection of himself. He moved closer, positioning himself directly in front of the mirror, but still he could see no reflection beyond that of the room. He leaned from side to side, trying to figure out if someone had bizarrely decided to do a realistic painting of the attic, but it seemed it was just a mirror that didn't want to show him his image. Keeping his eyes on the mirror, he nudged the box closest to him with his foot. The box in the mirror also moved.

_This isn't right. I bet my future ownership of the Impala that this is somehow related to the murders in the house. It's gotta be some kind of magic or supernatural something. Dad'll know what it is._

As he turned to leave, Dean caught sight of the faded inscription at the top of the mirror. It looked vaguely like Latin and was covered in a dark smudge obscuring most of the words. Pulling his sleeve over his hand Dean reached up, wiping it away.

**decipi frons prima multos**

Tracing his fingers over the curling ledger, automatically translating it in his head Dean muttered the Latin to himself, _the first appearance deceives many._

As he said the last word there was a sharp pain and the sensation of falling, yet he knew he was standing. He could feel the floor beneath his feet. His knees were locked and his hands clutched at his head. His body wasn't moving yet his mind screamed to him beyond the pain that he was falling. Then the pain increased, and he knew no more.

* * *

Sam dragged his feet as he left the last stunningly pink bedroom, wondering how anyone could stand to have a room entirely _that_ color. Dean joined him on the small landing, looking somewhat dazed. Sam smiled, hoping that maybe there was more than one luminous pink room.

"Where've you been?" Sam asked after a brief pause when Dean continued the blank stare. He was creeping Sam out with the lack of recognition.

"Uh, attic?" Dean said tentatively and frowned. Sam saw him reach for his throat as though confused that the voice he heard speaking was him.

"You all right?"

"What? Yeah, yeah." Dean's hand dropped like a stone. "I'm...I'm really good." Dean said looking down at his body and grinning in appreciation. Dean was so full of himself sometime, Sam thought.

"Anything interesting up there?" Sam moved around him, looking up at the door to the attic.

"No!" Dean flung out an arm stopping him. "Absolutely nothing."

Sam shrugged past. If Dean wanted to stop him, then there had to be_something_ interesting up there.

"Dean, Sam, find anything?" John called up from the bottom of the stairs.

"No sir." Sam's reply was immediate, echoed slightly later by Dean.

"Did you check the top floor?"

"Yeah, nothing there but boxes of books." Dean replied slowly, over enunciating his words.

"What kind of books?" Sam asked curiously. So this was why Dean didn't want him going up there. Dean shot him a glare and replied flatly.

"Boring ones."

"Dad, can I go–"

"Alright boys, let's leave."

"But, Dad!" Sam ran down the stairs, completely forgetting about Dean's earlier confusion.

* * *

Dean moaned, waking up slowly. He felt the solid hard floor beneath him rather than the warm, soft bed he had been hoping for. His head felt like it had gone a few rounds with a hammer.

Opening his eyes, he groaned. He was still in the attic.

Climbing unsteadily to his feet Dean stumbled to the door. He thought about shouting for his dad or brother, letting them know where he was, but then decided the extra pain that his head would no doubt bestow upon him wasn't worth it.

He turned the handle and pushed against the door. It didn't open. He yanked the handle down, pushing harder, figuring it had somehow gotten stuck. Still, the door didn't budge. Concerned, Dean put all his weight against it. There wasn't even the smallest amount of movement from the door.

"Dad! Sam!" He thumped on the door. Pain flared in his head, but there was no response. He rammed himself into the door a few times but succeeded only in giving himself a sore shoulder.

"Dad! I'm stuck in the attic! Sam! I need some help here!" The silence on the other side fuelled the panic in Dean. He banged harder on the door.

* * *

Reviews are food for a writer's soul and constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated so please, leave a comment. Even a simple 'I like this, keep going,' does wonders. 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Pale Reflection  
Author: NativeStar  
Word Count: 3,780  
Rating: PG-13  
Warnings: Nothing really, no pairings or spoilers.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
Summary: Pre-series. A cursed mirror traps Dean's soul behind its glass, while his body is hijacked by a spirit. There's a limited amount of time to save him before the doppelganger is all that's left but will John and Sam even notice Dean's missing?

A/N: A huge thank you to thehighwaywoman for the beta. I can't promise anything, but it looks like updates will happen roughly once a week.

* * *

Dean's gaze was intense, watching out the window as they drove back to town. Sam noticed, but they'd never been here before and he thought Dean was simply making a note of the layout and thought no more of it. The presence in Dean smiled inwardly and marvelled at how easily people rationalised the unexplained.

Daylight was fading into night by the time they found a motel. John got them two joining rooms, passing one key to Dean. It was cheap and looked it but by far not the worst they'd ever stayed in. Entering the room Dean headed straight for the bed furthest from the door and collapsed onto it, crossing his legs and folding his arm behind his head. He sighed in contentment.

He'd left the door open and a moment later Sam came in lugging both their heavy duffle bags. Muttering, just loud enough for Dean to hear, about lazy big brothers.

Sam paused. Dean had broken with the tradition of taking the bed closest to the door.

_Maybe Dean thinks I'm old enough now that I don't need protecting, that I can protect myself._ Sam felt proud and tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach as he looked at the window and door, calculating how much time he'd have if someone did get in. Crossing the room he dumped Dean's bag on his stomach. Sam grinned satisfied at the loud 'Oomph'.

John opened the door joining the two rooms before Dean could retaliate. "Boys, I suggest you get ready for bed. I want an early start tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Sam said.

Dean merely nodded. Grabbing his toiletry kit, Sam decided to claim the bathroom first. When he came out not fifteen minutes later Dean was already under the covers. "Night, Dean." Sam said softly.

He got no reply; it wasn't Sam's brother in Dean's body.

The entity lay in the bed, eyes shut and listened to the rustle of bed sheets as Sam got into bed. He listened to Sam's breaths, waiting patiently as they grew deeper and more regular. He gave it half an hour to ensure Sam was truly asleep then threw back the covers. It was his first night of freedom in 42 years and he planned on making the most of it.

* * *

Kelly smiled as the young man who had been flirting with her for the past hour caught her eye again. He sat across the bar from her and she raised her drink to him in thanks. The cocktail had been sent by the mysterious stranger and was her favorite; she'd been drinking the same thing all night. He looked a little on the young side for a bar but he was _very_ easy on the eyes. _Attractive and attentive, things are looking good._

On the advice of her friends, the ones who had mysteriously disappeared since she had attracted the attention of the young man, she'd been looking to have a good time tonight. Something meaningless and definitely with no strings. _You need to get out there again, _was her best friend Tanya's advice. She tried to argue that you don't just get over a five year relationship, but her friend had been adamant. Kelly doubted that anyone could take her mind off her disastrous break up, but this guy was doing a good job of it.

Pushing off her barstool she made her way towards him.

"Hey, gorgeous." His voice was low. She rolled her eyes and he smiled as if realizing how bad it sounded.

"So, you've staring at me for the past hour," she flirted.

"How can I help it when you're so alluring?"

She cringed inwardly at the line and was half tempted to just leave; she looked over her shoulder in search of her friends or a good excuse. He reached out and gently turned her face back to him, running the pad of his thumb down her jaw line. Her skin tingled in its wake, and all thoughts of leaving vanished. The look in his eyes and the desire there; she knew he wanted the same thing as her.

"You're not so bad yourself, I'm Kelly."

"That's pretty." He smiled softly. "I'm Dean,"

"Dean, it's a pleasure to meet you." His lines might have been predictable and cheesy but her small talk sucked. It hadn't been _that_ long, had it?

"Pleasure's all mine, I assure you. What do you say we maybe continue this outside?" His intention was clear and she slipped her hand into his as he rose, following him out the bar.

They didn't go far.

In the backseat of the Impala, they hungrily found each other's lips. Clothes were quickly lost as they made love.

Afterwards, Kelly lay in his arms, debating whether to ask for his number. She'd had fun and not once thought of her ex.

"You remind me so much of her…" Dean's voice was soft, as though he was speaking to himself.

Kelly tensed.

"Who?" She asked, fearing he would then tell a story of a lost love or worse, his mother.

"Ruth,"

His hands snaked around her neck. Her skin tingled, but it had nothing to do with desire this time. Kelly shifted, twisting around in his grasp and saw the eyes of her killer just before her world ended.

* * *

Sam grew increasingly resentful as he ate breakfast, shooting the occasional glare at the lump bundled in blankets in his brother's bed. If he had to get up at a god forsaken hour then so should his brother. There was no way he could still be asleep with all the noise Sam had made this morning.

Finishing his breakfast Sam cleaned his teeth, prepared to give Dean a rude awakening if he hadn't appeared by the time he had finished. As Sam whipped the last of the energy bars out of the box to put in his bag, he heard the soft turn of a key in the lock. Sam quickly went to Dean's bed reaching out a hand to shake his shoulder and putting his other hand under the pillow to grab the knife Dean usually slept with.

But there was no knife. No Dean either; the lump was far too soft. Ripping back the covers revealed pillows and clothes had been used to deceive Sam.

The door opened and Dean walked in.

"Where've you been?" Sam demanded.

"Out."

"Where?"

"Just out, it's none of your business."

"Were you out all night?"

"Maybe."

Sam could smell the smoke on Dean's clothes and as he walked past, the alcohol on his breath. "Did you go out to a bar, Dean?"

"A guy's gotta have fun, Sammy."

"It's Sam. And Dad's so gonna bust your ass."

"Why? I'm twenty-one. I don't have to do what he says."

"What gotten into you, Dean? You the one that_always_ does what Dad says. And don't be stupid, you're not twenty-one."

"Says I am on my driving license." Dean frowned.

"Yeah, your _fake_ driving license. The one Dad wouldn't let you have if he knew you were going to sneak out to bars behind his back."

"Well, he's not going to find out, is he?"

"Give me one good reason why shouldn't I tell him."

Dean flipped an unsuspecting Sam around using an arm to hold him in a headlock.

"Because if you do, I'll make your life a living hell? Got it."

The grip tightened and Sam began to panic despite the fact that he knew Dean never took things too far. He always held back when the wrestled or sparred. "Dean! Let me go!"

"Not until you promise."

"Dean!"

"Boys, what's going on?" John opened the adjoining door. It looked like he hadn't been up long and hadn't had his coffee yet. Sam knew he'd demand that his boys have a damn good reason for making such a commotion. There was a heavy pause, Dean's the subtle squeeze on his neck reminding Sam of his brother's threat. Sam weighed up his options and decided that letting this go would give him something to hold over Dean in the future.

"Dean won't let me go," he whined.

John sighed. "Dean, let him go." Their father turned back to his room, clearly heading for the source of the aroma of fresh coffee drifting through.

Sam smirked. Dean would never disobey their dad to his face.

"Make me,"

Sam whipped his head around to Dean so fast he thought he might have given himself whiplash. _Do you have a death wish, Dean?_John turned back and fixed Dean with a stare. "Excuse me?" John's voice was low, the warning in it almost palpable.

"Sorry, uh, sir." Dean's reply was forced. He clearly didn't want to cave, but realized he had stepped over a line. "Sorry, Sammy boy," He abruptly let go of Sam, who stumbled a few steps at the sudden release. _Sammy boy?_ Dean never stopped coming up with new and annoying nicknames. Sam scowled but realised it would be futile to correct Dean.

"I'm heading to the library this morning to do some research. The laundry needs doing. I expect you to have that finished by the time I get back." Without waiting for a reply John slammed shut the door connecting their rooms.

"Where does he get off telling us what to do?"

Sam stared at Dean like he'd grown a third head. "He's our dad, Dean."

Dean sighed. "Sam, thanks for not telling Dad," He clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder as if nothing had happened.

"I won't cover for you again, Dean."

"It's ok. Pretty soon you won't have to."

Sam frowned. W_hat does that mean?_

* * *

The library in the town was a small, run down building run by a very traditional librarian. When he asked for the records section, John had to strain to hear her reply. The years of working in a library seemed to have robbed her of the ability to speak above a whisper.

He decided that the best place to start would be the first death in the house, which from his initial cursory research was Ruth Shelby in 1955. The newspaper report was easy to find. Ruth Shelby had been a young mother who tragically died in what the police report said was a suicide. The place had apparently been ransacked before she died, but the initial suspicion of robbery had been discarded as nothing had been missing. Ruth had been found bleeding to death on the floor in the bathroom, her wrists slit. She had left behind a husband, Tom, and her baby son Jacob.

Looking up the other six names John found very little in common among the victims besides the basic information that they were all female, all lived in the house and all died of dubious accidental deaths. The causes of death ranged from slipping on a wet floor and falling on a knife to the hairdryer falling in the bath. _And how does someone get tangled up in their bedcovers so badly they suffocate?_

John gave up on research when his continually growling stomach earned him a wrathful glare from the librarian.

In search of some lunch, he cruised down the main street. He noticed a diner: _Shelby's diner._ He didn't believe in coincidences. The diner decorated in warm reds and oranges and felt very inviting. It had the distinct feel of a family run business.

Three coffees and a very chatty waitress later, John had found out that while the Shelby's were away on vacation, their daughter Anna was home from college and still in town working part time at their family run diner. However, interviewing a nineteen year old girl was not a job for an old man like himself. No, finding out if Anna knew anything about the circumstances surrounding her grandmother's death would be a job for his sons. She'd be far more forthcoming talking to people her own age. John just hoped that Dean would keep his flirtatious side under control and Sam would be cooperative, at least until they had the information they needed.

* * *

"The town sure has changed a lot over the years." Dean commented under his breath, unaware that Sam was listening as they pulled into the diner's almost entirely vacant parking lot. The drive through town had been slow as Dean's head swivelled left and right, trying to take everything in.

"How would you know?" Sam asked.

"Oh, uh, I saw some of Dad's research. Just looks a lot different than some of the old photos."

"Sure, whatever." Sam just wanted to get this over with; he didn't appreciate being stuck with his brother while Dean tried to flirt information out of some poor girl.

For once, luck seemed to be on their side. They had been sitting in the bright red corner booth for only a few minutes when Anna herself came and took their orders of coffee and coke. When she returned a few minutes later, Dean convinced her, with his trademark smile, to take her break and help a couple of people 'new to the area' with the local sights and attractions.

"Have you lived here long?" Sam asked.

"Since I was about six, yeah. My grandparents lived here in the fifties, but moved away. We only came back here when my dad got a job offer."

Sam tried steering the conversation to the house.

"Do you know about any urban legends around here? My brother and I are really into stories about haunted houses and spirits, you know, that kind of thing."

"No, not around here, sorry. But I'm not the best person to ask, I don't really believe in all that supernatural stuff."

_Damn._ Sam sighed. If she didn't believe then she probably paid no attention to rumors or myths anyway.

"You look so much like your grandmother." Dean said, moving his hand across the table to rest on top of Anna's.

"Excuse me?" She asked startled.

"I mean, I'm sure you must look a lot like your grandmother." Dean replied.

She slid her hand out and rested both of them in her lap, looking upset.

Sam kicked Dean under the table. _Watch it jerk._

"I've seen some of the old pictures, yeah," Anna said after a moment. "I guess you're right."

"What about your grandparents? Did they move back with you?" asked Sam.

"My grandfather did,"

"Not your grandmother?"

"My grandmother's dead,"

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It happened a long time ago. I never even met her. She had post natal depression and committed suicide soon after my father was born."

"Are you sure?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I am." Her offended tone indicated the conversation was over and she confirmed it by standing. "I should get back to work. Enjoy your drinks."

"Dean!" Sam hissed once she was out of earshot. "What is wrong with you? She's probably not going to tell us anything now!"

Dean seemed entirely unconcerned as he watched Anna leave. After following his brother's gaze, Sam grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the booth. "Come on, we're leaving."

* * *

"She doesn't know anything," Sam said as soon as they were in the motel door. He dumped his bag on the floor and moved to his bed, grabbing the pizza delivery menu on his way.

"Did you find out _anything_ that might help?" John asked, looking up briefly from the research spread over the table he sat at.

"Not really." Dean said, distracted as he sat on his own bed and began flicking through the television channels.

"She said her grandmother committed suicide due to post natal depression." Sam volunteered.

"That might help, Dean," John said, the reprimand clear in his voice. Dean ignored him, more engrossed in the television. John narrowed his eyes. He'd noticed Dean's borderline insubordination today, but let it pass for now. He had enough trouble with a sulking Sam at the moment. "If she committed suicide, then maybe she's an angry spirit."

"Doesn't explain her MO of killing women though." Sam offered, peering up from behind the menu.

"True, but right now it's the only thing we've got."

"We shouldn't go digging up some poor woman's grave based on guesses." Sam looked like he was gearing up for another argument but this time John agreed with him.

"You're right," John suppressed a smile at the shocked expression on Sam's face. He almost looked disappointed that he wasn't going to get a fight.

"Okay, how do a couple of pepperoni pizzas sound for dinner." Sam asked.

"Fine by me, son."

"Don't like pepperoni."

"Since when Dean? You liked pepperoni last week."

"Since now."

"Sam, just get the meat feast instead." John tried to nip the disagreement in the bud.

"Fine." Sam huffed and reached for the phone.

"When did there get to be so many TV channels?" Dean muttered under his breath, still flicking with the remote.

"Since now, Dean. Stop being an idiot."

Sighing, John began clearing his papers up, making room for the pizza soon to arrive.

"After dinner, we'll head back to the house. See if there's anything there that we didn't pick up during the day."

Neither Sam nor John saw the flash of panic that crossed Dean's face.

* * *

Twenty four hours later, the real Dean was hoarse from shouting and still trapped in the attic. He'd scoured the room from top to bottom looking for anything, absolutely anything that showed even the slightest promise of escape: loose floorboards, openings in the window, cracks in the door, but there was nothing. There was no way for him to get out and it seemed no one had missed him either.

"A whole day guys. C'mon, you must have missed me. Why haven't you checked the damn attic?" Dean had begun airing his thoughts out loud, breaking the smothering silence of the room.

There was no food in the room, but Dean hadn't felt even the slightest bit hungry since waking up. When he realized that and thought about it, he hadn't felt thirsty or tired either.

"Something isn't right," He muttered.

"Haven't figured it out yet?" His own voice answered him out of nowhere.

Dean spun around, frowning. _I'm not going crazy, but that was my voice I'm sure of it._

"Look in the mirror, dumbass." It _was_ his voice, alright, but there was an edge to it, something his voice never usually carried, something he used only for the evil bastards they hunted.

Turning to the mirror, Dean saw his own reflection this time, whereas before the mirror had been blank, reflecting nothing. He stared at his reflection as it raised a hand and waved at him while Dean, himself, stood stock still.

"Howdy, Deano." His reflection said.

Dean stumbled back a few steps, putting distance between himself and the impostor wearing his face.

"What the hell?"

"I guess you deserve an explanation," the other Dean said.

"Damn right, I do! Who are you?"

"I'm you."

"The hell you are!" Dean dove forward but the cool glass of the mirror stopped him from reaching himself. He smacked a palm against it.

The other Dean smiled in amusement. "If we're going to be technical, then I am Robert Krandel. But I must admit I rather like being you, and wearing this body. " He turned, looking down at himself, stretching his arms out as if he was considering the fit of a new suit. "I like what you've done with it. So if you shut up and listen, I'll be generous and explain."

Dean glared, but remained silent.

"You're trapped," Krandel explained. "You're caught inside the mirror, the one you definitely_shouldn't _have touched. Your loss, my gain. You see, the mirror's cursed. I was a spirit here, trapped in the house with nothing to do but cause chaos and death and even then, I could only do it every seven years. But when you touched the mirror and said those words, your…spirit, I guess, was forced out. You left your body behind, an empty husk rapidly on its way to becoming a corpse."

"So you stole it?"

"Finders keepers, Dean." Krandel laughed. "I now have a new body and I'm free to do what I like. I can finally leave this hellhole of a house. You, on the other hand, well…you're now stuck in the mirror, trapped in the reflection of this room, which is why you can't leave. You really got the raw end of the deal. At least when I was a spirit I had free reign of the house. You get to play in the mere reflection of a room."

"It was you who killed all those women." Dean exclaimed, horrified at realizing what this man was capable of.

"A guy's gotta have fun, Dean."

"That's sick. And you were wrong earlier. _You_ got the raw end of the deal, because my dad will figure this out. And when he does, he's gonna kick your ass, and then he's gonna salt and burn it. You won't get away with this."

"You know what? I don't think so. See, your _dad_ thinks I'm you. As far as he's concerned, his son is following his orders and checking for EMF."

Dean clenched his fists and hit the mirror, wishing he could hit the man taking over his life. The cold blooded killer who apparently fitted in seamlessly with his family, because facts were facts and twenty four hours had passed without anyone noticing.

"You won't fool him for long," he blustered. "My dad and my brother, they know me. They'll figure out you're not me." Dean heard the doubt in his own voice, but prayed Krandle didn't.

"Maybe, but I forgot to mention that I don't have to keep this up for long. Your time is running out. See, mirrors can capture the spirits of dead people, Dean. They don't do so well with the live ones. The ones ripped out of their bodies like you were. Soon, you're going to start to fade away. Even if your family does figure it out eventually, there won't be much of you left to save. You're going to die, Dean."

Dean paled, "You're lying. They'll figure it out. I'm not dying." He shook his head. "I'm not."

"Sure, Dean," Krandel chuckled, "Sure. Anyway, I'd better be going. Wouldn't want Dad or young Sammy to get worried. Been real nice meeting you, Dean. Thanks for…well, your life." With a jaunty salute Dean's body left, leaving Dean's soul alone in his prison.

* * *

Reviews make my day and constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated so please, leave a comment. Thanks for reading. :D 


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Pale Reflection  
Author: NativeStar  
Word Count: 3,087  
Rating: PG-13  
Warnings: Nothing really, no pairings or spoilers.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
Summary: Pre-series. A cursed mirror traps Dean's soul behind its glass, while his body is hijacked by a spirit. There's a limited amount of time to save him before the doppelganger is all that's left but will John and Sam even notice Dean's missing?

A/N: Sorry for the delay with this chapter. Thank you to extraonions for the initial beta and marvinmuse for the final beta.

* * *

"Anything?" Sam asked as Krandel came down from the attic. 

"No."

"Me neither, I'm starting to think the house has nothing to do with it." Sam grumbled as they headed down the stairs.

"Dean, Sam, you boys find anything?" John asked as they joined him by the front door.

"No."

"Nothing." Sam agreed, adding "it's possible the spirit or whatever it is only acts up when there's women around."

"I know, but the only way to be sure would be to bring a woman here and I'm not willing to risk someone's life." John replied. "Alright, we know where Ruth Shelby's buried?" Sam nodded. "Then we're going to salt and burn her bones."

"If it's not her then we'll have desecrated an innocent person's grave." Sam protested.

"We don't have much choice Sam, it's the 30th tomorrow, if we do nothing someone will die and it's the only lead we have."

* * *

As salt and burns went this one was proving to be rather anti-climatic. A clear marked grave, ground easy to dig and so far no spirits trying to stop them. Sam and Krandel had worked together to dig while much to their annoyance John had stood watch. Sam climbed out at they hit wood and Krandel raised his shovel, breaking the rotting wood easily. 

"Damn, that reeks!" Krandel couldn't get out of the grave quick enough, covering his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

Sam leaned over the open grave, his curiosity getting the better of him as he wondered what could be so bad to make Dean react like that. But he couldn't smell anything that wasn't to be expected. "It's not like it's your first salt and burn, it smells no worse than usual."

"Maybe to you." Sam heard gagging noises from behind the shirt.

John meanwhile had doused the body in gas and salt. Lighting the matches, he waited a moment for them to catch fire and burn. He dropped them, and yellow flames shot up as the gas ignited.

A moment later, over the light of the fire licking up the sides of the grave he saw a pure white glow, brighter than the fire. Looking up, behind his sons stood a woman, pale and coloured only in whites and greys she was clearly a spirit. The spirit of Ruth Shelby. John immediately raised his shotgun.

"Boys! Move!" Sam moved quickly out the way, like he'd been trained to do while Dean followed John's gaze to the woman. John shifted a step to the side to be sure Dean was out of the line of fire growling his son's name. John's finger tightened on the trigger as Dean finally moved backwards, away from the spirit.

John paused though, she wasn't trying to hurt them or even come closer. She merely stood, her expression so sad and compassionate. She slowly shook her head as her form quivered like a mirage and faded away.

"What was that about?" Sam said, confused, John however had more pressing concerns.

"Dean, what the hell were you thinking? If I give you an order; you do it!" Dean looked at John. He was surprised by the shocked look on Dean's face, like he'd seen a ghost from his past rather than just a ghost.

"I, uh, I don't know."

"Well, maybe you'll know when you do extra training tomorrow morning." John barked, heading back to the car. "I want that grave filled in and you back in the car in ten minutes. Sam, you're with me."

Recovering from his shock, Krandel fumed as he looked from the retreating backs of Sam and John and the large pile of dirt he had to move. _Just a little longer._

* * *

The car was cold, and John quickly started the engine, turning on the heater as he rubbed his hands. Sam opened the passenger door and slid in, disregarding the fact that the seat was usually his brother's. 

"Dad, since we finished the hunt so quickly, can we go back?" John sighed; this wasn't going to end well for either of them, especially as there was no Dean to diffuse the situation.

"Back where?" He tried to buy some time by playing ignorant.

"I want to see my friends."

"Sam, after this we're moving on. Finding another hunt."

"Why?"

"Why what?" These were the questions John hated the most. 'Why' had been Sam's favourite word when he was three, he'd foolishly hoped Sam would grow out of asking it. Instead, the questions had only become a lot harder to answer as Sam grew older.

"Why can't we settle down somewhere, hunt things that are nearby rather than across the whole country."

"It just doesn't work like that son."

"It's not fair." Sam crossed his arms.

"I know. But that's life."

Sam snorted but said no more. They spent the time waiting for Dean in silence. When he returned, they drove back to the motel. Dean didn't say anything for the rest of the evening, not even when Sam wished him goodnight.

* * *

Krandel gently turned the handle, trying to avoid any creaks that may wake up Sam. He'd come back earlier tonight, not wanting to risk Sam carrying through on his threat and telling John if he woke to an empty bed again. 

"Dean." Krandle froze. "Where have you been?" John was sitting by the table in darkness and both beds were empty. Clearly he'd been waiting for his son to come home. Sam had been a tattletale. Didn't he know things like that could get him killed?

Krandel didn't answer and John stood, walking right up to him and into his personal space. He could no doubt smell the alcohol on his breath and the smoke clogging his clothes.

"You been out to a bar?"

"Maybe." Krandel said in a 'what's it to you' manner, "a guy's gotta have some fun around here." he raised his eyebrows, amused at the incredulous look on John's face.

"Not while we're on a hunt, and not after that stunt you pulled at the grave yard."

"Hunting what, Dad? There's nothing at that house. And you never said I was grounded." Krandel stepped around John, taking off his jacket and dumping it on Sam's bed before slouching in the seat John had just vacated.

"I was listening in on the police radio chatter. A woman was found dead two hours ago, could be a coincidence but we don't have coincidences in our line of work. So don't you tell me there's nothing to hunt." John walked over and stood over Krandel, his voice was low and it vibrated with anger. "You've been drinking and smoking and from now on you don't go anywhere without my express permission, you may be eighteen but I'm still your father. Get your act together, Dean. And don't even think about driving the car for the next month"

"You have no right to talk to me like that." Krandel stood coming face to face again with John. He had had enough, he'd escaped one prison, he wasn't about to allow anyone else to restrict him again.

"I have every right." John shouted.

"Shut up old man, I don't need to put up with your crap. You treat your sons like nothing more than soldiers!"

"I'm teaching you how to protect yourselves!"

"Consider me taught then." Krandel stormed out the door, slamming it behind him.

"Dean!"

* * *

Dean sat crossed legged in front of the mirror staring into the 'real' attic. A few hours ago he had started to notice that the blue colour of his new jeans had faded somewhat and knew that the Krandle had been telling the truth. With nothing else to do his mind wandered; thinking about what his family might be doing right now, thinking with a shudder about what Krandle might be doing with his body. 

_He'd better not be shovelling down cream cakes and chocolate dessert._

Dean worked hard to stay in shape; he didn't want some murderous spirit to ruin it all. He resolutely avoided the voice in the back of his mind that pointed out that Krandle was probably doing much worse, and all while wearing Dean's face.

* * *

"Dad? Where's Dean?" Sam pushed the door separating the two motel rooms tentatively. Sam had heard the door slam and the argument, and he was worried. He briefly wondered if this was what Dean felt like when _he_ argued with dad. 

"He went out." John's reply was tight-lipped. He stood in the middle of the room, hands clenched into fists at his side.

"Out where?"

"Not now Sam, a woman was found dead this morning." John pulled himself together and turned to the table, rummaging through the various papers on the surface. "Burning Ruth Shelby's bones didn't work."

"But that's not like Dean. You don't argue and he doesn't slam doors and…and he's been acting off." Sam said. The argument had shook him slightly, it was so out of character.

"I don't know where his new attitude has come from, but I don't have time to deal with that right now." He knew _something_ was up with Dean and he intended to deal with it, but women were dying _now_. Finding his notes from earlier and pocketing them, John turned to Sam. "I'm going to the police station; see what I can find out. Stay here, go over what we have, see if you can find anything we might have missed." John shrugged on his leather jacket. "If Dean comes back, make sure he doesn't leave again."

"Yes, sir." Sam said as the door slammed again.

* * *

A few hours later John returned, bringing lunch, coffee and a hot chocolate for Sam but no further information. Other than a cursory glance around the room he didn't mention Dean's absence. 

"The police have no idea. They haven't got an official ID yet but it sounds like its Kelly Young. She was reported missing yesterday. Her friends last saw her leaving the club they were in with a guy. CCTV cameras were broken so they don't know who the guy is but obviously he's the number one suspect. Her body was dumped on the outskirts of town in a woodland, neck broken. There are no clues to her attacker, at least not yet, the forensic teams are still there. They estimate time of death as the day before yesterday."

Sam's mind immediately flashed to Dean coming back in the morning, smelling like a club. But it was _Dean_, and he probably didn't even go to that club.

"So it may have nothing to do with the case? Just coincidence?" Sam said around a mouthful of bacon sandwich.

"It's possible." John conceded.

"Well, I found something. There was another death in the house."

"There was?"

"Yeah, well, not technically. He died in the hospital a couple of days later but he never regained consciousness. He collapsed in the house."

"What happened?"

"This is from a report in the local newspaper. It says here that Robert Krandle, an antique collector, had heard about a valuable mirror that Ruth Shelby owned. He went to see her, wanted to try and persuade her to sell it. She refused, he became violent and she defended herself. When police arrived on the scene they found Krandle collapsed."

"Why a mirror though? Why was he so desperate to own it?"

"Is there a picture of the mirror?" John asked.

"Yeah, in the police report. Here." Sam shoved a piece of paper towards John. He picked it up, studying the carved mirror.

"The first appearance deceives many" John muttered, "There's something more to this mirror, could be cursed somehow, the Latin must mean something. And there has to be some reason beyond greed as to why he wanted it so badly."

"Where's do you think the mirror is now?"

John shrugged. "Could be anywhere, there's a chance it could still be in the house. The Shelby's left a lot of things there when they moved, and since all the owners of the house since have died, it could still be there."

"You reckon it's Krandel that has something to do with the murders?"

"It's looking more and more likely." John admitted.

* * *

The silence was stifling, the boredom was mind numbing and that was nothing compared to the insatiable need to _do_ something. Dean felt powerless inside the room and he could feel himself growing weaker all the time. The fading was becoming more noticeable, like the sand in an hourglass, his soul was slipping away. 

Dean pushed himself to his feet for the tenth time in as many minutes. There had to be _something_ he could do. Even running through Metallica albums in his head got old after a few hours. Dean had never been very good keeping himself occupied.

Dad and Sam would find him. Of that Dean was sure. Although doubt had begun to creep into his mind a few hours ago as to whether it would be in time. Dean found himself wanting to talk to them again, even if it would be for one last time. He didn't believe in tearful farewells or emotional confrontations, even though he was sure Sammy would turn it into one. The thought brought a small smile to his face.

Sighing in frustration Dean turned and kicked a box in frustration. A book slid off the top of the pile and fell out onto the floor, pages open. The letters and words held no interest to Dean, but an idea began to form in his head. There was a way he could speak to his family before it was too late.

Two hours later Dean was finally finished. Two hours of careful tearing, stinging paper cuts and five books later he had finally composed his message ransom note style. His hands had been fading and he found it difficult to see to tear out letters. He had no glue so he secured the torn out letters from chapter titles to the blank pages torn out of the back of books with spit. He was the only one in the room anyway; he'd just have to be careful not to disturb them. Dean looked over his work, feeling satisfied and accomplished and perverse sense of glee at how Sam would be horrified he had defiled books.

dAD, SAM, sOUl StUck IN MirRoR, kRAndLe In mE. DOnT Read lATin. HELP.

What to write for the last line had been bothering Dean for a while, he didn't want to say goodbye although he realised it may very well be the last thing he said to his family.

LooK AfTEr EACh OthER.

KiCk HiS ASS fOr Me.

* * *

The door opened. John and Sam both turned in their seats to see Dean walk in. He appeared to be calmer but Sam held his breath, watching his father and Dean waiting to see if it was about to kick off again. 

"I'm not apologizing." Dean said.

Sam winced. _Good start, Dean._

Luckily for Dean, John was more focused on the job. "We'll talk about this later." He said with a glare. "We're heading back to the house, there's a mirror we need to find. It may explain some of this. Sam will fill you in, get your gear ready, I want you in the car in five minutes." John stood and walked out the door.

Sam relaxed slightly and began to explain. "There was another death in the house –"

"I don't care." Dean cut him off. Dean walked over to his bed and began checking his weapons in his bag. He slipped a knife into the holster by his ankle and got out the rock salt shotgun.

"You should care." Sam pointed out as he cleared up the research on the table.

"Well I don't, and you should care about how you tattled on me to Dad."

"Well _I _don't. I warned you, Dean."

"I warned you of the consequences."

This was so unlike Dean. He'd had been acting different, out of character for the past few days.

"Jerk."

"Bastard."

"That's not what you're supposed to say, Dean."

"What?" The look of confusion on Dean's face was so genuine that Sam stopped what he was doing.

"When I say jerk you always say…" Sam left it open, waiting for Dean to finish. He didn't. Suddenly everything over the last few days fell into place. The sneaking out, the drinking, the insubordination to Dad, a thousand little things that all deviated from how Dean usually was. It all started to come together like Sam was finally putting the finishing touches to a jigsaw and seeing for the first time what the picture was.

"You're not Dean."

Dean's smile sent shivers down Sam's back. He'd never seen Dean smile at him like that, cold and malicious. Sam slowly stood, tensing and ready to run.

"Christo." He prayed it was just a demon. Demons were seriously bad news, but they could be exorcised. However, Dean didn't react.

"Not the sharpest, are you, _Sammy_? I'm honestly surprised, I thought you would have figured it out before now, you obviously either don't pay much attention to Dean or he and I have more in common than I thought."

Guilt flashed across Sam's face. "Who are you?"

"Right now, I'm Dean Winchester." He said spreading his arms out wide. "Part time hunter, part time brother to your wimpy ass. But if you want to know who you're talking to? I'm Robert Krandle, with a full time new lease on life."

"Krandel? The antique collector? But…how?"

"It's a long story; let's just say my death wasn't as natural as reported."

"Get out my brother!" Sam raised his voice, hoping his father might hear.

"Well, since you asked nicely…no. I don't think so." Krandel started walking towards him and Sam edged backwards.

"If you won't get out then we'll make you." It was an empty threat, Sam didn't have a clue how you got dead spirits out of people. He turned to run to the door but Krandel was too quick, his arm grabbed Sam, twisting him around and onto the floor where he pinned Sam's body with his own.

"You can't, and soon it won't matter anyway. Dean will be gone." Krandel spoke with a certainty that chilled Sam.

"You're lying." But there was no guarantee; Sam had to get away, he had to find his dad _now._

"We'll see." Krandle drew back his hand and Sam saw black.

* * *

Reviews are awesome and adored, constructive criticism is appreciated. Either way I'd love to hear what you think! 


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